Counter Clockwise
by WritingWild
Summary: A Stucky AU. You can also find this story on AO3 when my invite request goes through. In this universe, Steve went after Bucky that day on the train. And HYDRA was able to get their clutches on both of them.
1. The Turning Point

"Remember when I made you ride The Cyclone at Coney Island?"

"Yeah, and I threw up?"

"This isn't payback, is it?" The dark-haired soldier looked out over the treacherous summit, and he felt a clod of fear swell in his throat. He forced it down and instead focused on the task at hand with as much heed as he could muster. While Sergeant Barnes would never voice it aloud, he had a crippling fear of heights. Figuring it was best to conceal it, Barnes stuck close to Steve's shoulder and made a pathetic attempt to stand tall in spite of himself.

Steve flashed a grin at Bucky's comment, offering so much as a scoff under his breath, and for just that instant, the sergeant's hidden quivering ceased to exist. In that instant, he was fearless. His dread threatened to suffocate him, but somehow, he pressed it down and narrowed his eyes at the cable that would bear the weight of three grown men or send them all to their death. It was thin and wavering against the frigid air, and just looking at it made the soldier shudder. In his mind's senses, he could hear the metallic snap and feel his body enveloped by nothing but bitter wind and the burden of gravity.

"Now why would I do that?" Steve smiled, making it very clear that Bucky's suspicions were exactly his intentions.

"Jerk," Bucky muttered, fixating his dark gaze on the snow-covered peaks.

"Punk," Steve spoke so quietly that even his best friend, who stood less than a meter away from him, could hardly make out what he said in the roaring wind. The words drifted away on the current of freezing air, gently brushing by Bucky's ear on their path.

Bucky swallowed one more time and lifted his chin with determination in mind, in an attempt to console himself, and Steve took hold of the pulley that would tote them to the train. He turned back to address his team.

"We got a ten second window, tops. Miss that window, we're bugs on a windshield," he called over the wind.

Bucky sighed to himself. Thanks Steve. Very reassuring.

"Better get moving, bugs!" Dum Dum Dugan, a soldier with a laid back sense of humor and one with whom Barnes had created a close friendship, urged from behind them. Bucky could hear the smile in his voice, and it slightly eased his anxiety.

Steve obediently jumped into the air and secured his grip on the bar, then Bucky and Jones followed suite. The T-bar was rickety and unbalanced, but Bucky hardly paid it any mind. His velocity was picking up rapidly, and if he didn't time his drop just right, he'd miss it entirely. Bucky was in no mood to die by his worst nightmare. Steve easily dropped to the train, and he didn't turn back to wait for his comrades.

Bucky saw his window. He knew his timing would be perfect. And yet for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to let go of the safety provided by the T-bar. A split second of free fall. For some ungodly reason, that felt more terrifying than smashing face first into a mountain.

"Barnes!" Jones shouted.

Reality snapped back into the soldier's field of vision, and he let go without giving his terror another thought. He landed on all fours on the roof of the train, relishing his small victory. His heart pounded in his chest, his wrists and ankles burned with impact, and his hands trembled. But he was alive. Jones landed just behind them and stood above the small hatch through which they would enter, posing for them as a lookout.

Bucky and Steve crept along the roof of the train, whose engine was emitting a deafening roar. The axels clicked rhythmically each time the wheel made a full 360. All the conflicting sounds were distracting at best, but the men moved with purpose and speed. Steve held the hatch open, and Bucky easily swung down into the train car, dropping low to the ground behind the stacks of weapon crates in order to remain unseen.

The duo walked close to one another, covering each other's blind spots. Bucky's arms were stiff in front of him, supporting his gun with a steady aim. Steve moved a few paces ahead of his friend with his shield at the ready. The older of the two men watched Captain America stride into the next train car, ever undaunted. He would never admit to envying him.

It was at that exact moment that the heavy steel door separating the two cars slid shut with a flat hiss. Bucky lunged to catch it, as did his friend, but they weren't quick enough, and the door sealed between them. The sergeant's eye caught a massive black-clad HYDRA minion with gargantuan cannons on his hands, and he leveled his gun's barrel with his attacker's chest. After firing a few shots that echoed through the train and rang in Bucky's skull, he was forced to duck behind a few cases of ammunition. His clip was empty. Bucky clenched his jaw and considered his very limited options.

Thankfully, Steve managed to get the door open, and he tossed Bucky an extra gun. The sergeant was quick to fire while Steve knocked a case into their opponent's chest. Their enemy went down, and Bucky sighed in relief.

"I had him on the ropes," he murmured, referencing a line Steve often uttered to him when their roles were reversed.

Steve nodded. "I know you did," the odd part was that he sounded completely genuine. Bucky glanced up at him, startled.

Before Bucky could find it in himself to respond, Steve seized his shield and covered both himself and his friend with the vibranium. A powerful blast of cobalt-colored energy sent both he and Cap tumbling to the side. Bucky crashed hard to the ground, and a jolt of pain shot through his spine. Somehow he managed to keep awake.

The shot, however, created a gaping hole in the side of the train, which gave way to the cliffs below. They were on a sheer rock face, which was entirely coated in a thick blanket of crisp white snow. Bucky landed dangerously close to the opening torn in the side of the train. He grasped the inside of the train door, closing his eyes tightly and praying this would be over quickly as the polar gusts of wind burned against his cheek. The thunder of the wind against the train was too loud for him to think about much else.

Though dazed, he shook off the blow and stood up. The heavily-armored figure had one of its cannons narrowed in on Steve, paying Bucky no mind, and the sergeant didn't hesitate. He scooped up the shield in his left hand and wielded his handgun with his right. He clutched the shield tightly, almost as if it would protect him from the lethal height as well as the shots from his attacker. He fired twice before another blast of plasma hit the shield with enough force to throw Bucky backwards and knock the shield from his grasp.

For that moment, Bucky's body was airborne. He latched desperately at empty air in an attempt to find something to hold onto. His elbow collided with a rigid and freezing object. It was a few metal handles grafted onto the side of the train. Bucky scrambled to grab the top rung, but missed. He managed to get hold of the third run down, and he tightened his fists around it with such force that his knuckles turned white and his arms began to shake. He squeezed his eyes shut and cowered against the icy metal. The ground was not beneath his feet. He was so high up. It was as if every nightmare Bucky had ever had was reality.

"Bucky!" he heard Steve shout at him. He looked up in time to see Steve clinging to the side of the train, inching his way. "Grab my hand!" His friend outstretched his hand towards Bucky, and in that second, Bucky felt reassured. Steve was there. Steve would save him.

Bucky made a hesitant, fearful attempt to reach his friend's hand, but missed. Just as he was about to try a second time, he felt the handle supporting him jerk under his weight. His stomach dropped as soon as he realized what was happening. Bucky had time to exchange one petrified glance of realization with Steve before the handle came loose and dropped.

"No!" Steve barely heard himself scream as he lunged for Bucky, too late. He was already off balance, and he couldn't think of anything in that moment but losing his friend. He could save him. He had to try. Steve pushed off the train and was in free fall after Bucky.

He packed his arms against his sides to fall faster, in an effort to catch up to the sergeant while they were in the air. Before he could succeed, his spine and ribs lit up in a spike of white light as his body collided into something hard enough to knock his trajectory aside. With that turning point in their fall, Steve blacked out.


	2. Good Morning

Pain was a sensation that Steve had grown familiar with during his time as a super soldier. From occasionally falling from towering heights to receiving the occasional knife wound. His pain threshold had skyrocketed since his transformation, and no simple ache could slow him down. But at the moment, screaming, scathing ripples of agony burrowed into his spine as he drifted back into consciousness on the cold aluminum examination table. Immediately, he craved the sweet release passing out would give him.

"Good morning, Captain Rogers," a voice with a thick Swiss accent greeted him. He recognized it even if he couldn't place where from, and he hated it. "I do hope you're comfortable. You took quite a fall when you were on the train. I would call it a miracle you are alive… if it weren't for your genetic manipulation. A beautiful project indeed. Though I've created a little something myself… you'll meet him soon enough."

Every word the man spoke was like a cymbal bashing against Steve's eardrum. Slowly, his mind began to reorient itself. Yes, he could remember. The fall. He'd fallen from a train in the tundra… so had Bucky.

He sat up sharply when he remembered Bucky had fallen too. But his arms pulled taught against leather straps that bound him, sprawled on the metal surface and unable to move at all. The wave of dizziness and hurt that washed over him made him contemplate how he hadn't fallen into blackness once more. Then he saw the scientist- he recognized him now: Arnim Zola- remove a massive needle from his forearm. His right arm had a brace around it.

"What's that?" his speech was slurred and mumbling, but the stout balding man in the crisp white lab coat seemed to understand.

"It's an adrenaline shot. I can't have you passing out before Schmidt arrives. He personally would love to speak to you. The success story," Zola pronounced "the" with a "z," and for some reason, Steve found it grating. He wasn't one to complain about accents in any form- he'd retained some of his Brooklyn dialect himself. But this man deserved every ounce of scrutiny Steve could find within himself. Zola had detained and tortured his best friend. Steve hated this man with all of his soul.

"Where's Bucky?" Steve's voice echoed in his own skull, and his words sounded as if they were coming from a mouth detached from his body.

"You mean Sergeant Barnes," it wasn't a question, but it wasn't a correction either. It was just rephrasing Steve's words. "He's in the room next to us. He isn't quite awake yet."

Before Zola could begin to monologue once more, the door to the lab burst open and crashed against the wall with a sound comparable to a gunshot. Black spots danced in Steve's vision as the sound ricocheted through his mind. He wanted to pass out. It seemed the better option given the circumstances.

His vision was blurred, but it didn't obscure the black-clad figure with the crimson complexion. The Red Skull. Though they'd briefly met when Steve had gone to rescue Bucky and what remained of the 107th infantry, the captain hadn't been close enough to really see the spite, the sadism, and the malice within the dark eyes of Johann Schmidt. The Red Skull, as his name implied, was nothing more than a scarlet death's head on the body of a living man. It was a horrifying sight to say the least.

"Good morning, Captain Rogers. I'm so pleased to see you again. I thought it would be best if I came by in person to explain HYDRA's plans for you. A phone call or messenger simply didn't seem right. This is going to be quite a shock for you after all," a hateful grin spread on that bright red face, and Steve knew he was going to hate what came next.

He took the Skull's dramatic pause as an opportunity to search for an escape. The leather bonds were too thick to break. The array of gleaming sharp objects on the marble counter was out of reach. The table was too wide to tip.

"You're going to be HYDRA's shield from now on," Schmidt continued. "There are several ways to go about this, and the one my subjects choose is your choice. However, at the end of any option you decide, you will be HYDRA's newest weapon."

Steve actually scoffed, though it caused him pain. He glared at the Skull. "You should know that isn't going to happen."

Red Skull smiled, but it wasn't malevolent. It was smug. As if he'd already won. The man- if Steve could even find it in himself to call him a man- turned his back on both the short red-haired man with round spectacles and the bound captain wearing white scrubs. Steve took the time to wonder what they did with his suit. Schmidt walked to the door and paused as he gently pulled it open.

"I was hoping you'd choose that option," he chuckled darkly, then slammed the door shut behind him.

The adrenaline shot was wearing off, and Steve's pulse was slowing. His eyelids grew heavy, and he let himself pitch headfirst into the dark.

Bucky's vision wouldn't clear no matter how many times he blinked. This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. He'd been having them ever since Steve rescued him. But he blinked and blinked and tried in vain to scrub the vision away. It didn't work. He felt his chest heave with fear. This pain was too real to be a nightmare.

His left shoulder was on fire. It was a constant, shrieking fire that threatened to consume the rest of his body. He shook and seized against his will, but Bucky couldn't find it in himself to scream. No, this was not a nightmare. This was real.

"Ah, you're finally awake, Sergeant Barnes. Such a shame you didn't make it in one piece as our other candidate had… however, you seem to be handling your pain very well. Can you speak to me, Sergeant?"

He knew that voice. That decided Swiss accent dripping with superiority and narcissism. He'd heard that voice monologue for hours when he'd been held captive in the labs. Arnim Zola had been the star of every nightmare he'd had since those weeks.

"Go to hell," his voice couldn't rise above a whisper, and his spirit was too weak to acknowledge that. Bucky felt as though he would die. He was in constant agony, and he was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to pass out.

Slowly, his memories returned to him. "Steve!" he said suddenly, voice finally shooting up to a decibel that echoed through the concrete room. He was in a lab, strapped to a table. "Where's Steve? Is he okay?"

"Captain Rogers is just fine. He's in a far better state than you, at least, Sergeant Barnes. Why don't you take this time to relax? When you awaken a second time, the two of you will be reunited. You have my word."

"Right, totally trust you," Bucky mumbled, but his eyelids were so heavy and he was so exhausted. He just wanted to black out.

A needle pierced his arm, and the dark obliged his wishes to enter oblivion. Just like that, he toppled into blackness.


	3. The Winter Soldier Project

By this time, the screeching pain had hushed itself to a dull throbbing down the soldier's spine. He was still dressed in angel-white scrubs, and combined with the trumpets ringing in his ears, he believed he was dead for a moment. Until the slightest movement was like a blade buried to the hilt in his vertebral column, and he had to bite his lip to keep from screaming.

He was no longer bound to a table. He was sprawled rather comfortably across a short cot with a paper thin mattress. The yellowed cloth was splotched with questionable stains, but the rest of the room was too dark for him to get a proper look around. All he could make out were the dark concrete walls, damp and musty-smelling. It seemed to be an empty room, vacant except for him and the cot on which he laid.

Steve shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, which was rich with oils as if he hadn't washed it in several days. His body ached and begged him to lie still, but he ground his teeth and braced himself to sit up.

"Damn it!" he couldn't stifle the curse. Sitting up had caused his spine to start spasming in jolts, but he held himself up against the wall next to the cot. He dragged himself up against the wall and used it for support, wincing. "Hello?" he called out, figuring it was in vain. It was likely someone was guarding this room, but they wouldn't answer him.

"Who's there?" came a resounding reply that echoed off the walls.

Steve swiftly realized he was in a prison cell. Its open front was obscuring any escape with thick iron bars arranged in a vertical row. The voice, so familiar even when his head hurt too much to assign it a name, had come from the cell directly beside his own, rebounding from the hallway wall adjacent and into Steve's cell. Captain Rogers put his thumb and forefinger at the bridge of his nose to tame the headache before the name finally floated within reach.

"Bucky!" he exclaimed, rushing as close to the left side of the tiny room as he could manage. "Is that you?"

That familiar voice replied, much closer now, so there was no echo. Steve's head was very grateful for the hushed whisper he clearly heard. The walls between the cells could not have been thicker than a foot, so Steve pressed as close to the front left corner of the cell as he could. Judging by Bucky's voice, the sergeant was doing the same.

"Steve?" his voice was weak, and he sounded both in pain and exhausted.

A slender hand that stood a pale contrast against the jet blackness of the floor snaked around in front of the bars. Steve reached out and took the hand, and it was a comforting feeling. He heard Bucky's breathless laugh.

"I'm glad you're alive, punk," he didn't release his vice grip on Steve's hand, and the captain was glad of it.

Steve relished the reassurance that came with Bucky's familiar touch. He wasn't alone, and he couldn't decide if that horrified him or provided him solace. He leaned against the frigid concrete wall and a shudder rode down his back, which sent his vertebrae into another protesting convulsion. Steve couldn't hold back a whimper.

"Are you hurt?" Bucky's right hand tightened on Steve's, lightly pressing his fingers against each other.

"My back," Steve admitted. The memory of the fall came ramming back into the forefront of his troubled mind. He'd fallen. He'd tried to save Bucky. And he failed. "I hit a rock or something during the fall. It'll heal. I'm a super soldier, after all."

"The fall," Bucky repeated. He fell silent, but Steve heard his canvas scrubs rustling. Neither of them released one another's hands. "Why did you come after me? Why didn't you just let me go…? The world needed Captain America, and-"

"Bucky," Steve said sharply, cutting him off. "Listen to me. I did it because I wanted to save both of us, and the world along with us. Granted, I didn't succeed. But I would try again and again if given the chance."

Bucky gently brushed a hand over his left shoulder. The pain was still blazing, but he was able to understand why now. His only free hand clutched desperately at Steve's, while the phantom of his left arm tried to support his crouching stance. He was horribly off balance and had to lean heavily against the wall for support. He wasn't going to tell Steve. Not until he had to know… which hopefully wouldn't be soon.

Steve's words were sincere. But Bucky felt an intense pang of guilt tighten in his chest. He'd taken Captain America from the world. But worse, he'd taken Steve from what could have been an incredible life. He knew Steve would have gone on to be a hero for years to come.

"You shouldn't be so willing to kill yourself over me," Bucky muttered. "I'm not worth it."

Before Steve could contest that, the sound of metal crashing into concrete- an iron door striking the wall- rang in his ears. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut to clear the blackness that threatened to consume his vision. The clacking of rubber-soled shoes tapped a rhythm against the floor as Dr. Zola walked easily in front of Steve's cell, having approached from the right. Bucky couldn't see him yet. But the stupid sound of those stupid shoes gave him a perfectly clear vision of who he was dealing with.

Zola was flanked by two guards swaddled head to toe in black with a bright red HYDRA logo stamped on their chest. They carried massive guns, and their face guards prevented Steve from looking into their eyes. Zola continued to walk so that he would be visible to both soldiers, and he stopped between the two cells.

Blinding white light poured into both of them. Bucky narrowed his eyes in pain but didn't allow them to close. He heard Steve emit a tiny, breathless whine. And that was all it took to flare his anger into red hot fury. He did nothing, just snarled at the man in the oversized white lab coat that nearly touched the ground due to how short Zola was.

With the cell illuminated, Bucky finally understood his surroundings to the fullest. As he feared, the room was entirely empty save for a tiny cot and a small metal basin in the back corner. He shivered to wonder how long they'd be here.

"Good day, soldiers. I must admit I'm overjoyed you're both conscious. Barnes, how is your shoulder healing up?"

"It's fine," Bucky said through gritted teeth. "It feels fine."

"Your shoulder?" Steve murmured. "What happened, are you hurt?"

Bucky didn't answer, and that received a short, clipped laugh from the Swiss scientist. He sneered from Bucky to Steve and then back again. "You didn't tell him?" he walked to stand in front of Steve, so Bucky could just barely see his back. He grinned down at Steve with a hateful look in his eyes. "He didn't tell you? Fantastic, I wanted to see how you'd react anyway. Bring him out of the cell," Zola directed the last remark to a guard.

When Bucky heard the jangling of keys, he scuttled to the back of the room. "No!" he pressed himself against the wall as the guard jimmied the door open. "Don't touch me!"

"Leave him alone!" Steve demanded.

Bucky cried out in agony as the guard's hands clamped down on his shoulders, sending his entire left side into nothing but searing heat and throbbing. He kicked and struggled and shouted and cursed, but none of these things made the guard release his steadfast grip. He tossed Bucky down onto the cold floor before the soldier could make an attempt to conceal his left shoulder, now free of the burden of his left arm, and the pain that came from the impact forced Bucky to let out another yelp.

"Bucky!" Steve reached out to grab his friend's arm, but he was met with dry air. "Bucky…"

The sergeant didn't respond. He quickly scrambled to his feet and tried to throw a right hook at the guard, who easily caught his fist and threw him off balance. Bucky collapsed against the bars of Steve's cell and was barely able to contain any sound.

"No," Steve whispered, hands over his mouth, finally seeing Bucky's mangled shoulder. Though it was mostly covered in gauze, the bloody tears in the flesh peeked out of the top of the bandages. "I'm so sorry, Bucky."

Bucky swiftly got to his knees and laid his hand on his shoulder. "It's…" he wanted to say it wasn't that bad. He would be okay. But the loss of his arm was that bad. And he wasn't okay.

Steve's eyes glistened, and it was the first time in a long time Bucky feared he'd see his best friend cry. Zola signaled the guard to toss Bucky back into the cell and waved his hand at him so he returned to his side.

Both soldiers fell silent. Steve with guilt and horror, Bucky with humiliation and hatred. He turned on his knees and faced away from the doctor, gaze burning.

"It is time I introduced the two of you to The Winter Soldier Project," Zola smiled, feigning politeness.


	4. Threats

"The two of you are going to be part of something beautiful. I know you're thinking that you don't have to listen to me, that you will escape, but you can believe me when I tell you, there will be no escape. You will be a duo of human weapons that will bring HYDRA to its rightful place in history," Zola paced back and forth in front of their cells. He folded his hands in front of him, as if waiting for his prisoners to speak.

Bucky was the first to heed his wishes. With a spiteful glare and one of the best American swear words of all time, the dark-haired sergeant climbed to his knees and spat on the ground next to Zola's right foot. The Swiss scientist took an indignant step away, then he dismissively waved his hand to the guard at his left. A single nod was all Zola's protector gave in response, moving forward. Bucky didn't bother moving away. He knew the door would just be opened anyway, so he braced himself against the bars for whatever would come next.

"No!" Steve shouted, but he was ignored.

The guard's thick gloves knotted themselves in Bucky's hair, and, in a burst of agony that immediately blurred his vision with wetness, dragged him by the hair into a standing position that kept his head low. Zola walked up to him, and the sergeant realized he was being held at eye level. Purposefully, he averted his gaze and refused to make eye contact. After the initial scream through gritted teeth, Bucky managed to keep his pained whimpering to himself. Nonetheless, Steve was still pleading with Zola to leave his friend alone.

"Sergeant Barnes, you know what we can do. You know that HYDRA has its methods of breaking even a strong will like the two of yours. Release him," Zola ordered. Bucky landed hard on his knees and cried out in pain. He refused to look up and instead focused on his trembling arms. "Now, if the two of you will continue to listen, I will go into specifics regarding my project. The two of you have been imbued with serum that enhances your abilities, hence your survival on the train.

"The Winter Soldier project details the creation of a team of human weapons. Perfect assassins with skill in every form of combat and stealth. You will be the first of your kind. Perhaps the only ones if you prove to be… enough. There is of course one small problem that I've finally been able to rectify," The scientist swayed on his stance a bit, then continued. "Schmidt and I are not fools. We know that your spirits are too strong to break in the traditional sense. We're going to have to coerce you through a new method I've been developing."

"What method?" Steve snarled. He and Bucky were obviously not having the engineer's bullshit, because neither of them seemed frightened by his speech. They were just so used to escaping, to winning. They were certain it would be child's play getting out of there.

"Schmidt has given it the simple name of wiping. It isn't something you need concern yourself with because, though the process is terribly painful and the long-term effects very damaging, it will clear away everything you've ever thought, everything you've ever felt, and everything you've ever known. A clean slate of your mind, so to speak," Zola smiled again, and Bucky had never wanted to hit someone so much. "I tire of explaining this. Guards will be around in four hours to collect you. We will begin the procedure then."

With that, Zola did not wait for his new captives' response. He turned a right angle and moved back out the way he'd come in. Steve and Bucky were left alone in silence. And the silence reigned for a long time. Neither man could think of something appropriate to say. So instead of engaging with one another, they tucked their knees into their chests and waited. They waited for the agonizing minutes to crawl by. But time felt it had come to a standstill after only thirty minutes, and Steve couldn't stand the soundlessness.

"He's not going to go through with it. I won't let him. We have to find a way to get out of here," his voice ricocheted off of every wall. His back was still in some of the worst pain he'd experienced, so he could only imagine the agony his friend was bearing.

Bucky's voice drifted back to him, but it was full of spite. He sounded so defeated. "What would he do with me even if he did go through with it? I don't know if you noticed when you saw me, Steve, but I'm kind of useless now."

Steve was quiet. His eyes followed a small cockroach as it scuttled from under his cot, begging for a scrap of food. The captain's own stomach churned at the thought. It must have been forever since they'd eaten. He was hungry, exhausted, and weak. He couldn't find a way to escape now even if he tried.

"Sorry," Bucky amended.

"No, I'm sorry. I tried to save you, and I ended up damning both of us," Steve clasped his hands together and stared at the white shoes that had replaced his red boots. The scrubs weren't uncomfortable, and yet he found himself missing the uniform. It _had_ grown on him. He hadn't been lying about that.

Bucky's scoff sounded three times, and the sergeant shifted, placing his remaining arm over his knees as he leaned back against the icy wall. A shiver ran up his spine, but he kept it contained. "This might be the worst we've ever gotten ourselves into," he admitted. "And we've done a lot of stupid things."

The comment made Steve smile ever so slightly, though it quickly faded into heavy eyelids and a drooping head. He was just so tired. He laid down on the floor near the cot to get some rest, and before he was aware of it, his sub conscience had already taken over and sent him to a land where this nightmare had never begun.

When the HYDRA guards came to collect them, Bucky and Steve had already made a plan. They were ready. What they weren't ready for is the precautions Zola had his men take. They carried thick plastic shields and alien-looking wands thicker than Steve's arm. He didn't want to know what their purpose was. The men were in full combat uniforms, and every part of their body was padded heavily with armor. Completely untouchable. There must have been a dozen of them at least.

When they came, blinding white light flooded the hall and surrounding rooms. It was so intensely bright that neither Bucky nor Steve could force their eyes open after having been adjusted to blackness for so long. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and threw his hand over them in an attempt to clear the purple spots floating in his vision. He couldn't see Steve, but the captain was mirroring him.

Their plan had been perfect. Bucky would distract them and Steve would jump them. It was simple, but it was effective. And now, because they'd underestimated Zola and Schmidt's security, it was neither. Steve didn't really know what he'd been expecting. All he did know was that Bucky tried to warn him how many precautions they would take before collecting their knew specimens. Steve had been too stubborn to listen, since it had been so straightforward the last time he'd infiltrated the HYDRA base.

The truth was, the men didn't know if they were in that same base. Bucky had judged the layout of their cells and proclaimed it wasn't. He would know best, since he'd suffered far more time there than Steve. The captain found himself imagining what Zola could have done to Bucky, and when he did, he cringed and tried to force the thoughts away. He heard Bucky grunt in pain and swear at the guards, some vile things that even Steve had never heard his friend say.

When the hands snapped down on his shoulders, Steve tried to jerk out of their grasp. Even if they were going to be trapped here for a while, the captain would make sure that neither he nor Bucky went down without a fight. Both men had a will strong enough to make breaking them a real headache for Zola. Steve was proud of his friend for putting up such a struggle, but he also knew it wasn't easy for him in his… conditions.

The hands on his shoulders only tightened, so Steve grabbed the guard's arm and easily flung him over his head. The dark-colored mass landed hard on the concrete ground with a satisfying thump. Two more guards landed vice grips on Steve's arms and forced them behind his back, cuffing them and thinking the tussle had ended.

Wrong.

Steve jumped as high as he could, kicking one guard in the face and kneeing the other in the ribs, sending both of them sprawling. He snapped the cuffs against the bars of the cell, using more of his strength to do so than he had in a long time. He spun on heel and used the foot set back to launch himself forward. He sprinted to Bucky, who was still kicking at the guards who were trying to restrain him, and the two men barely made eye contact before more hands snatched Steve's shoulders and ripped him backwards.

"Bucky!" he shouted.

"I've had enough," Zola declared, loud enough to be heard over the commotion. "Put them out."

A sharp jolt of burning electricity entered Steve's back, and for the fourth time since their fall from the train, he passed out.


End file.
